Sardanapolis
by Nineteenth Souljah
Summary: Knock Out wanders off from battle and finds himself in an unlikely place where its residents are known to live like kings. A Swindle/Knock Out story; TFA-verse.
1. 00

**Prologue**

"I want you," Swindle said.

Those were the first three words the merchant had said to him while they were seated facing each other across the desk in his office. Datapads had been neatly placed aside, along with a glass of medium grade perspiring in the cool and fresh glow of pure energy.

Two large seekers stood on either side with their arms crossed and narrowed optics fixed on the shiny, crimson mech who was still in the midst of regaining full consciousness.

"I can't afford to waste anymore of my precious time scouring the galaxy for medical help," the merchant continued. "I've been thinking about getting one on board. So imagine my surprise when my guards brought you in to me…"

"H-how did I get here?" Knock Out murmured groggily.

Swindle slid the cold glass across and gestured at the medic to take his drink.

"I got a little curious and started doing a background check on you to, oh you know, make sure that you hadn't been sent here to, ah, _kill me_?" The merchant smiled. "That's when I realised we've caught ourselves a Decepticon medic. And you certainly have quite the reputation. I must say I am truly impressed, Dr. Knock Out."

With his talons wrapped around the glass, Knock Out slowly lifted it to his mouth, revelling in the velvety texture lubricating his parched throat. This was energon at its finest. The best he had tasted in eons. Still—something, somewhere felt amiss.

"You're mistaken," he told Swindle. "I didn't come here for a job. I—I don't even know how I ended up here. My troops and I were under attack when I—"

The merchant leaned forward and interjected, "You'd been in stasis for a week. Must have been quite the battle you fought out there, huh. How did you even manage to get out unscathed, hm? There's not a scratch on you to suggest you've been engaged in a skirmish. So let's not waste time and tell me why you are really here."

"I don't know."

The merchant cleared his throat. "That's…not exactly the answer I was looking for."

"You can't keep me here. They'll find me. No one leaves a medic behind."

Swindle snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, doctor. As valuable as you are, I doubt Megatron would waste his time looking for you. Unless…I had you returned—for a price of course."

Knock Out heard a clink and glanced down, noticing the cuffs around his wrists. "How dare you," he said, scowling at the merchant. "Just who do you think you are? Treating me like a commodity waiting to be sold." Anger simmered inside him, urging the medic to rise and slam both servos on the merchant's desk. "I am a doctor. Not a slave!"

"Stay down!" bellowed one of Swindle's guards.

The merchant nonchalantly leaned back in his chair. "Let him be," he said to Thrust before turning his attention to the medic again. "I'm just a click away from activating those shock bands on your wrists. So I suggest you calm the frag down and drink your energon, doctor."

Impatient, Thrust stepped forward to subdue the medic with a single shove. "When Swindleboss tells you to sit your aft down, you sit!" he growled, seizing the medic by the shoulder and forcing him to remain seated.

"Knock Out…I'm sorry to say but the Decepticons have abandoned you. Megatron—has abandoned you. As far as your troops are concerned, you are gone. Dead. I've tampered with your survival beacon so you'll remain undetected. In other words, you don't exist beyond my ship. And no one—leaves my ship. _Ever_."

Knock Out trembled with rage, his gaze piercing through the merchant's. "I will kill you," he said. "And bring your ugly head on the platter to Megatron."

Swindle laughed. "Dirge, take care of this for me, will you?" he said before leaving his desk. "I'm taking Thrust along with me to attend a meeting off planet. I'll be counting on you to keep watch and make the doctor feel right at home."

And the last thing Knock Out saw that night was Swindle exiting the office without so much as a backward glance. It was as though he had left with an air of satisfaction, knowing his captive would never be able to find his way out of his ship.

Knock Out found himself scanning through his memory banks for traces of information but had found nothing.

He sensed Dirge behind him, and with a swift blow to the head, darkness followed suit, pulling the medic into the depths of oblivion once again.


	2. 01 - Rehabilitation

**Chapter 1 – Rehabilitation**

Dirge came storming into his room the moment he heard things crashing and breaking. Possessions of his—old, new, gifted, stolen and bought—all scattered across the spacious berth and floor, some in pieces while others were completely disintegrated.

The medic, since emerging from stasis, had gone berserk. Upon seeing his possessions at the mercy of the mad doctor's weapons, Dirge immediately lunged to seize Knock Out by the shoulder and neck, slamming him hard against the wall.

He should have known better than to take the medic's lack of consciousness (and stature) for granted. Grounders were never a threat to a massive jet like him but he hadn't expected someone so puny would be capable of causing such irreversible damage.

If Dirge hadn't been so distracted with counting his inventory and energon supplies, he would have had time to strip the medic off of his integrated surgical tools and kept him sedated.

"You're breaking my things! _My_ things!" the teal clone roared. "Nobody breaks my stuff but me!" Yellow wings marked with red stripes flared out in anger. Dirge gritted his dentae and growled menacingly at the medic. While he wouldn't hesitate to kill, he couldn't risk disobeying Swindle's orders. There was a reward to be had for good behaviour and Dirge was never one to waste such an opportunity.

That was perhaps one of the clone's redeeming qualities. Despite his greed, Dirge learned fast and he knew better than to repeat mistakes.

His show of dominance over the red medic however had caused him to be spat at in the face. Dirge glanced away, before slowly returning his gaze at Knock Out, with his glossa sticking out of his mouth and licking the glob of lubricant smeared across his lips.

"Heh. Is that all you got? Come on. The more you resist, the more I get! So give! Give me your best shot!"

Knock Out growled, optics wild and bright red with rage. "I'm no medic. I'm a scientist!"

"You're a mindless brute, that's what you are!" Dirge tightened his grip around the medic's neck. "Let me teach you a lesson or two about manners and respecting other people's property. Especially mine! What will it take to break you down, _medic_? How about a few scratches on that pretty finish of yours? Or better yet, I can cut you open, hang you upside down from the ceiling and bathe myself in your vital fluids. I'm sure you taste good. Oooh, I know you do…"

"You wouldn't dare…"

"Oh I would…"

Knock Out snorted derisively. "You think you could finish me off so easily?"

"Instantaneously. But…I won't…not today. Best you remember that I'm the one Swindle calls to take care of unfinished business. Stubborn, dangerous people. Like you. I'm the mech who makes them pay."

Dirge leaned closer, expelling warm, foul air at the medic's pristine face as he spoke, "And I'm going to make you pay for every single thing you broke. _Everything_."

* * *

"Can we leave now?" Thrust asked as he watched Swindle restlessly from the flight deck. They'd been flying around for hours in a cruiser and waiting for Dirge's cue to return to base.

"Not yet," came Swindle's reply. Unfazed by his lackey's impatience, the dealer continued to enjoy his glass of spiced highgrade while comfortably seated in the lounge area's sofa.

"Why did you leave Dirge alone with the medic?" Thrust asked again. "You know what he's —"

"Capable of? Of course."

"Then what if—"

"You think I don't know what I'm doing? Dirge is well aware of the consequences," Swindle said, sounding slightly annoyed. He then turned to look at Thrust. "I'll rip his shard out if he dares forces himself on my medic. I want Knock Out subdued, not violated."

_So you trust him_, Thrust had wanted to say. _You trust Dirge more than you'll ever trust me._

Silence filled the space between them.

Swindle returned to sulking in the lounge while Thrust settled himself back on the pilot seat. It's always hard to tell what Swindle was up to and all he could do was to comply. And so he did. And said nothing more.

There was jealousy. And there was that fear of not having things the way it used to be.

Thrust could feel it in his shard. That he was no longer Swindle's favourite bodyguard.

* * *

On the outside, Swindle seemed indifferent, yet secretly, it pained him to see Knock Out this way. So brutally punished and marred. But it had to be done.

To be rid of the beast, you would first have to let him surrender to his greatest opponent.

Fear. In its avaricious, unrepentant form.

To instil it for the sake of regaining another's trust, another's dependence, and then finally—with Knock Out's defences broken down completely—it was time to put the medic back on the road to recovery.

This was Swindle's way of maintaining order amongst his crew. In the midst of instability, it was his stoic demeanour that's keeping everything in place.

He watched as Knock Out shuddered in fear, content with curling himself up into a tight ball in a pool of his own vital fluids.

The plan worked. Dirge would screw things up and Knock Out would get himself hurt. It triggered something that had made it easier for Swindle to work his way through the medic.

Swindle smiled.

"I can fix you," he said, extending a servo that was quickly rejected by Knock Out's cautious stare. "Psh. Don't look at me like that. How do you think I've gone this far without a medic, hm? I've been taking care of myself long before you and the clones showed up."

"It—it wasn't me." Knock Out sputtered, energon dripping from corner of his mouth. "I didn't do it. I—I didn't do anything, I swear! Please. Stop staring at me! I can't…"

Keeping his gaze on Knock Out, Swindle knelt closer. "It's alright," he said, with a tone mellowed with such rare sincerity. "All you have to do is say yes. To working for me. To doing everything I tell you to. Then I'll never let Dirge lay a talon on you ever again. You have my word. And my protection."

He left the medic an option with no option. An escape with no way out. Either way, Knock Out was never leaving the ship. The medic was far too valuable to be set free.

Stoic. Determined. Things were going according to plan.

Swindle knew he'd gained the medic's trust as he saw him reaching out for his hand.

He reached back.


End file.
